


In Your Dreams

by CuddlesandChocolateCake



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mild Language, Nightmares, Sleepwalking, Witty Banter, a tiny bit of violence, because no Nessian fic would be complete without it, no smut this time, not much though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:24:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8165071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlesandChocolateCake/pseuds/CuddlesandChocolateCake
Summary: Nesta has not been sleeping well since she and the Night Court returned from Hybern: she's plagued with nightmares, and, no one knows why, but she's been sleepwalking. She is perfectly content to suffer it alone, until one night, she sleepwalks into Cassian's room...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely Pterodactylichexameter. This is my first time writing a Nessian fic! Feel free to leave me a comment, and come join me on Tumblr :)

**In Your Dreams**

**Inspired by this story:** [ **here** ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3101099/chapters/6718733)

_Nesta couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could only watch as Hybern’s men submerged Elain -_ Elain _\- into that Cauldron. Again. And again. And she was powerless to do anything. Again. Distantly, she could hear someone screaming._ Elain! Elain! _She tried to go to her, but she was rooted in place. Helpless to save her little sister - the only good thing in her life._

With a start, Nesta woke up, shivering violently despite the sweat coating her skin. Once again, she found herself curled in a ball on the floor before her bedroom door, fingers red from scratching to get out.

Since she had gotten here, since leaving Hybern’s court, she had been plagued with nightmares which, more often than not, led to sleepwalking. No one knew why, but no amount of sleeping tonics or magical remedies seemed to work. After a particularly painful nightmare one of those nights, she had managed to open the door to her bedroom, and in her sleep, she had taken a wrong turn through the halls and fallen down the stairs. Thankfully, no serious harm had been done. At least, not to her body. Her pride however…

Since then, Feyre’s mate had at least magicked her door closed so that she wouldn’t be able to hurt herself again. Of course, she could open the door when she was awake, but if she was asleep, it held firm. Most nights, she found herself prostrate on the floor in front of the door, sometimes even still standing, trying to get out. To get to Elain.

She ran to the washroom, prepared to hurl her guts up, but nothing came. She just sank to the cold tile floor, hugged herself, and wept. Her throat was hoarse, and belatedly, she realized that the person who had been screaming in her dream was her. But there would be no one to save her from her own personal horrors. So she washed and dressed, and started her day before the sun did.

 

* * *

 

Cassian couldn’t bear it. Night after night, he heard her terrified screams, pleading for her sister’s life while that awful scene no doubt replayed in her mind. And there was no one there to save _her_. He thought he’d die with the agony of letting her suffer through it alone, but he knew that she would push him away. He had tried, once, to go to her, and her outraged reaction had been enough to know that his interference would not be any help.

It didn’t stop him from trying, though. In his own way.

He had been the one to suggest to Rhys that maybe he should lock her door at night. She had conceded to that, at least, but he had the sneaking suspicion that she would have protested violently if _he_ had been the one to mention it to her.

To the befuddlement of the healers, he had requested an insane amount of healing salve - the same kind that he had used on his wings when they were healing - and every night, he placed a tin of it in her room. It was with some small satisfaction that he noted on the first night, when he went to refill the tin, it was empty.

Given that their rooms were in the same wing, directly across from each other’s, he was the only one who heard what went on nightly. Who heard her agonized screams and who heard her desperately scraping her hands down her door, trying to escape the prison of her mind. Some nights, she just mewled, heartbreaking noises that were somehow so much worse than the screaming, and it was torture of the acutest kind to not be able to go to her. Because she would rather brave endless nights alone with her darkest memories as company than let someone else in.

But night after night, he lay awake, listening to her and feeling that, though he was intruding on something so private, something so vulnerable, she wasn’t completely alone in it.

 

* * *

 

Some mornings, Nesta sat in the chair in her room and tried to drown out the echo of Elain’s screams by immersing herself in books, while others, she practiced fighting techniques until she was shaking from the exertion, pretending it was Hybern’s cronies that she was fighting, and arrived at breakfast with arms nearly too sore to lift the food to her mouth.

Every morning, she applied the salve on her dresser to her sore - and sometimes bleeding - fingers, speeding up her new body’s rapid healing process and dulling the pain to nearly nothing. She knew who it was that left it for her, and although she felt deep, _deep_ down that she should, she never thanked him. She didn’t want to acknowledge that she needed it.

Her nightmares weren’t always the same; each night brought a new flavour of agony. Some nights, Elain didn’t re-emerge from the Cauldron. Other nights, she did. She wasn’t sure which was worse: being remade as something you have learned all of your life to hate, or to be completely, irreversibly unmade. Often, she found herself wondering what Elain would have wanted of the two, but she never asked her.

No one ever commented on it at breakfast or otherwise, merely inquiring after her health - given the tired circles under her eyes - though she wondered if they knew that it was still happening. Either way, she carried on as if she didn’t relive her worst nightmare every single night.

That morning, she had opted to practice with her blades, so when she arrived at breakfast hours later, her arms were exhausted. She tried to quell the slight tremor in her aching arm as she picked up the plate of bacon to serve herself, but when Cassian took the seat across from her, a slow smirk grew on his face. _Bastard._

“Would you like me to help you?” he asked innocently, and she wanted to smack the expression off of his face.

Her feelings towards him were - complicated. She knew unequivocally that she hated him, but beneath that, there was something else. Something like… affection. _No_. Not affection. But sometimes, she didn’t want to slap his face. Sometimes, she wanted to do other things to it. Those times were becoming more and more frequent, and she violently pushed away the thought every time it resurfaced.

“Since you seem to have trouble eating like a civilized person on your own, I doubt you’d be any help,” she quipped, and promptly went back to picking at her breakfast, ignoring his growing smirk.

“Maybe not food,” he drawled, “but I’ve been told I’m _excellent_ at eating other things…”

“I would bet you anything that the women who told you that, if they even exist, only said so to make you feel better. Given what you are most _certainly_ lacking in other areas.” She looked pointedly down at the table, where the subject of her disdain would be, and raised an eyebrow archly.

Azriel choked on his coffee, spewing it across the table. Elain cringed next to her, and Nesta wrinkled her nose.

“You Illyrians are pigs.”

“Perhaps,” Cassian responded, “but I bet you’d give anything to have one of them warming your bed.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“In your dreams,” she spat.

“No, sweetheart, but definitely in yours.” That insufferable smirk widened, and he had the _audacity_ to wink at her.

She threw down her napkin and left her fork clattering on her plate as she stormed away, incensed. Cassian’s booming laugh chased her down the hallway as she left the dining room, gracefully flipping him off without turning around. And she realized that she had not thought of her dream once that morning.

 

* * *

 

Cassian readily admitted that he loved needling the fiery woman, but he also knew that after her night terrors, she needed a distraction from the haunting recesses of her own mind. Laughing with Rhys and Az and arguing with Amren when he was still healing was one of the ways he had coped with the pain and the nightmares when he thought he’d never fly again. He knew firsthand how dangerous it was to sit around all day ruminating on the horrible things that you’d experienced. The nights that he had woken up in a cold sweat after reliving having his wings mutilated in Hybern’s throne room were innumerable. They still happened occasionally, even now that he was fully healed and flying again.

So it was his pleasure to aggravate her morning after morning, during her training sessions (which she only agreed to so that she could learn how to protect Elain), and any other time he could manage it. He even thought, maybe, that she enjoyed taunting him as well. That sharp tongue of hers was a force to be reckoned with.

If he couldn’t save her from her bad dreams, he could at least help her in the aftermath. It was the least he could do after he broke his promise to her. She he had said once - only once - that she didn’t blame him, that it wasn’t his fault, before she raised her walls again and shut him out. And she hadn’t said anything since then. But he still blamed himself.

 

* * *

 

Steeling herself for another miserable night, Nesta slid under the covers, adjusting her nightgown and rearranging the blankets around her to cover her as much as possible. This was a habit left over from the time spent living in that wretched hut they called home while their gods-damned father did nothing and let them starve. The temperature in her room was comfortable, neither too hot nor too cold, but the blankets tended to make her feel… safer. Protected.

It was a fantasy though. Nothing could protect her from the horrors that awaited her night after night.

 

_She was being held back by two fae males in battle armour, thrashing in their iron grip, but to no avail. Elain was being pushed into the Cauldron while those gods-damned queens watched on, smirking. She would_ kill _them. She would kill_ all _of them…_

_But she didn’t. She could only watch helplessly as her baby sister was submerged in the roiling black liquid._

_Agonizing seconds went by before they tipped the cauldron over, and the black liquid spilled out. But Elain wasn’t there. She was gone. She was_ gone. _Nesta screamed her agony and despair, screamed until she had no voice left. But Hybern simply smiled._

_“The hellcat now, if you’ll be so kind.” And she could not move, could not do anything as they pushed her into the Cauldron._

_No air entered her lungs. She was drowning, and she could see Elain’s lifeless body floating in the dark water and she couldn’t scream, couldn’t go to her, couldn’t -_

_Someone pulled her out of the Cauldron. Gasping for air, she struggled against them, screaming for her sister. She had to get her out of there! But her rescuer held firm. Elain. I need to get -_

Jerking awake, she shook her head violently as if to clear away the dream, and she found herself in her own bed. For the first time in weeks.

 

* * *

 

_I am so fucked_ , Cassian thought as Nesta walked - _sleepwalked -_ into his room in the middle of the night, dressed in the smallest nightgown he had ever seen.

Rhys must have forgotten to lock the door to her room that night, because Cassian was startled awake by the sound of his doorknob jiggling, then turning. His first thought was that he had slept in and Az was getting him up for training, but the absurdity of the thought was cut off when Nesta, tear-stained and dishevelled, stumbled into his room.

_Shit_ , he thought. _What the hell do I do?_ But before he had time to react, she made a beeline for his bed and crawled in next to him. The moonlight reflecting off of her sweat-covered skin made her look ethereal, and Cassian was struck dumb by how utterly beautiful she was. But she was shaking from the cold so, without thinking, he carefully tugged the blanket out from beneath her and covered her with it. Something akin to a sigh left her lips, and she visibly relaxed. But her face contorted in pain almost immediately. Then, _Mother help him_ , she made this _noise_ , this pitiful little whimper, and it… did things to him. The urge to hold her to him and take away all of her pain was overwhelming, but he couldn’t do that. Not without her permission. Which he knew he would never receive, but that didn’t change the fact that it wasn’t his decision to make.

So, begging her for forgiveness, he gathered her in his arms and carried her back to her room. The moment he picked her up, she started kicking and trying to get out of his grip, and he thought that she might be awake, but he looked down and… no. She was still fast asleep, still trapped in her own mind.

Moving quickly, he entered her room, placing her gently on the mattress. The blankets were twisted and looked to have been kicked to the side, so, using his magic, he straightened and smoothed the sheets, warmed her bed, dried the sweat from her skin, and tucked her in. Then, with an inexplicably heavy heart, he traversed the hall and collapsed into his own bed.

 

* * *

 

Utterly dumbfounded, Nesta peeled back the covers and took inventory of herself. She was not freezing, nor was her nightgown soaked through with sweat, and she smelled… cloves. _Odd_. The memory of her nightmare was still fresh in her mind, but it felt far removed, already fraying at the edges. That morning, she hadn’t needed the salve, nor had she felt the urge to read or fight away the dream.

She dressed comfortably and crossed the hall towards the stairs, a slight buzzing resonating in her ears as she descended. _What is going on this morning? First, I sleep through the night in my own bed; second, I wake up with that_ scent _on me; third…_ She abandoned the train of thought, preferring to focus on less confounding topics. Like breakfast.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she was _hungry_. Ravenous, even. When she sat at the breakfast table that morning, she filled her plate with fruit and eggs and meats and tartlets, ignoring everyone else’s confused expressions.

“Nesta, are you alright?” Elain asked softly, her brow furrowing in concern.

“I’m fine, just hungry.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Elain responded, laughter dancing in her voice, and Nesta shook her head, chuckling under her breath, before returning to her meal.

She understood Elain’s concern, though. Although she never talked about it (though she had contemplated bringing it up with Feyre), she had been eating less and less since the onset of these nightmares. Some nights, she hurtled to the bathroom and lost whatever food she had eaten that day. Most mornings, however, she didn’t eat enough food for there to be anything to lose the next night. This newfound hunger was peculiar.

_Did it have something to do with the dream?_ The dreams usually ended the same way, regardless of the changing details: she and Elain were forced into the Cauldron, and who did - or didn’t - come out varied. Never, _never_ , had she or Elain been saved. _Saved_. That’s what it was. Someone had pulled her out of the Cauldron last night. Somehow she knew that this person - whoever they were - hadn’t been malevolent. They hadn’t taken her out to subject her to more cruelty. The notion was completely dumbfounding.

Cassian dropped obnoxiously down into his seat across from her, cutting off her thoughts abruptly. A smirk was poised on his lips, but it fell flat when he noticed Nesta’s full plate.

“You’re… eating.”

“Oh well spotted,” Nesta said, rolling her eyes and imitating Cassian’s drawl.

“No, I mean…” he stopped, seeming to think better of whatever he was about to say, for which Nesta was grateful. She didn’t want to deal with his concern. Or whatever it was.

Working on her mountain of food, she reached for the teapot, preferring Illyrian tea to coffee. As her fingers grazed the handle, an invisible force tugged it _slightly_ out of reach. Subtlety obviously wasn’t Cassian’s forte, because while she leaned forward to grab it, his smirk turned into a shit-eating grin that only grew as the teapot danced just out of her grasp again and again.

Fuming, she finally managed to grab it, but instead of pouring herself a cup, she poured it all into Cassian’s lap. He jerked back, knocking over his chair and falling to the floor. Hissing in pain, he stood back up, leveling a glare at Nesta. She didn’t shy back from it, though it was impossible not to notice the way his linen pants, soaked through with tea, clung to his heavily muscled legs… among other things. _So_ not _that lacking._

“A bit clumsy for an Illyrian warrior, don’t you think?” Beside her, Elain was giggling sheepishly, and Nesta couldn’t help smirking. Or blushing. _Quit looking at his..._

A flare of red and his pants were dry again. She snapped her gaze back up to his eyes, but he had caught her staring. A dangerous gleam entered his eyes, and he grinned mischievously. “What are you looking at?”

Not missing a beat, she replied, “Just checking my facts. I was right - you _are_ lacking.” His eyes widened imperceptibly, and Nesta kept her face impassive. Poor Elain couldn’t contain her giggles anymore and burst out laughing. Cassian glanced at her, hunched over herself in a fit of giggles, before shaking his head and returning his gaze to Nesta.

“Lying doesn’t suit you, sweetheart.” She glared daggers at him. “Everyone knows I have the largest wingspan here.”

Scoffing, she remembered a conversation she’d had some nights ago with their firedrake friend - _Amren_ , she remembered - about the whole wingspan thing.

“I’m pretty sure Azriel does, actually,” Nesta retorted, sparing a glance at the shadowsinger who, to his credit, only allowed a small smile before nursing his coffee in silence once again. Cassian, however, knew that she was lying. She’d been caught. From what she had seen, thanks to the tea, his _wingspan_ was impressive, and he knew it. _I suppose that’s why they call it_ cocky, she thought, biting down an ill-timed bubble of laughter and schooling her features into her well-maintained expression of contempt.

“Let’s get out the measuring tape and find out, shall we?” said Cassian, his smug expression never wavering. _Insufferable bastard._

“You’re disgusting,” she sneered.

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart,” the commander said in response, using magic to clean up the spilled tea that his pants hadn’t intercepted, and sitting down again.

Nesta merely scowled and finished her plate.

 

* * *

 

Even though Nesta had dumped scorching hot tea all over him, Cassian considered that morning to be a success. Apart from the fact that he enjoyed baiting her and loved their quick-witted exchanges every morning, this morning had been particularly great. He had seen her staring at him, had seen her _blush_ , but more importantly, her skin was not as pale as it had been since she had started having nightmares, nor were there tired, purple circles under her eyes. And she was _eating._ He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but he had been shocked. She ate practically nothing, and he could hear her when she threw up some mornings, so seeing her eat with fervour had made him… happy.

Why he cared so fervently for this woman was a mystery well beyond him, but he did. And something told him that maybe he had had something to do with her new energy today. He thought back to last night. Was she confused when she woke up? She probably hadn’t slept a full night in her own bed in weeks.

He didn’t want to dwell on it, but he was somewhat anxious that she would find out and be appalled. He hadn’t meant to see her that vulnerable. It had just… happened. But he doubted she’d see it that way.

So he said nothing that morning, or any other time that day, but he noted with some satisfaction that she was not as tired as she usually was. She looked well-rested.

 

* * *

 

Last night had been too good to be true. Nightmares or not, Nesta had actually woken up in her bed - not stiff and cold on the floor - she had wanted to eat, and she had not been debilitatingly exhausted all day. It was more than she could hope for tonight. So, with resignation, she slid into bed and waited for sleep to take her.

 

_Hybern’s men were holding her tight, suspending her over the Cauldron, and no matter how hard she thrashed, they didn’t let go. She was going to die._

_She could see Elain on the floor, pointed ears sticking out, golden brown hair plastered to her head, clothes clinging translucently to her new body. Guards were leering at her, breasts clearly visible under her wet nightgown, and then the red-haired bastard went to her, giving her his jacket. But she saw no more as she was pushed violently into the water._

_This time, as she struggled to breathe, she felt an excruciating pain in her back, and she screamed, but no sound came out. She could only watch as her fingers lengthened, feel her ears grow to points, her…_

_Someone grabbed her under her arms and lifted her, sopping wet and freezing, from the Cauldron. They were warm, and they felt safe. She didn’t try to get away that time. She merely let them carry her away from the wretched thing._

Curling in on herself, reaching for someone who wasn’t there, Nesta woke up in her own bed. Again. At a loss for words, she wondered what was going on in these dreams. Why, exactly, this mysterious person was saving her. Her only clue was cloves.

 

* * *

 

Again that night, Cassian woke with a start when Nesta opened his door and clambered into bed with him. He desperately wanted to tuck her in close and hold her until the nightmare faded, but again, he lifted her into his arms and put her in her own bed, cleaning her up and tucking her in, hoping that the rest of her sleep would be more peaceful. His certainly wouldn’t be.

 

* * *

 

Night after night for a week, Nesta had woken - in her own bed, no less - from dreams of being pulled out of the Cauldron by someone who smelled like cloves. And she was still completely clueless about who that person was. Maybe her new magic was starting to kick in and warded off the worst of the dreams. But, wouldn’t it then save Elain? If her magic was a part of her, she knew that it would save Elain. Not her. She didn’t deserve to be saved.

Day after day, she ate more, her energy replenished, and she went through her days with more vivacity. As much as she could have, she supposed, being Nesta. It did make for better arguments with gods-damned Cassian, since she could wipe the floor with him even when her mind was ravaged by nightmares. But when she was well-rested? He didn’t stand a chance. She had, begrudgingly, started to enjoy bantering with the commander; it gave her something to do.

She might even, she allowed, have started to be happy here. Maybe that was a stretch, but she was warm, she was well-fed, she was even cared for to some extent. Feyre’s friends - _family_ , she corrected herself - were all kind and accommodating. At first, Nesta and Elain had been rightfully wary of them, but Elain warmed to them quickly, and Nesta cautiously followed suit. Never, at any time in her life, had she seen Feyre as happy as she was with her _mate_ \- the word still felt foreign on her tongue - and Mor’s cheerful demeanor was contagious; even Azriel, as solemn and stoic as he was, could be quite funny, and was always gentle with Elain (in fact, he was one of the people Elain felt most comfortable around). And Nesta and Amren - after several devastating altercations - now got along swimmingly. Eventually, Nesta relaxed around them, and grew to like them.

That night, she wasn’t afraid to go to sleep. Even as she waited for the nightmare to come, she knew, at the end of the night, she’d be safe.

 

* * *

 

It made Cassian unfathomably happy to see Nesta get healthier and healthier as the week went on. After the second night that she had sleep-walked into his room, he had begun to leave the door ajar, hopeful that it wouldn’t be the last night, and not wanting her to scratch at it and hurt her fingers if it wasn’t.

Night after night that week, she would tumble into his bed and he would wait for her to relax, sometimes stroking her hair off of her sweat-slicked face, sometimes hushing her and murmuring words of comfort, before carrying her back to her bed. Each night, it became harder and harder to do so. But he always did.

After the sixth night, he decided to retire early, hoping to make up the hours he would spend awake after putting Nesta to bed, so, mumbling a half-hearted excuse, Cassian went up to bed. Rhys gave him a _look_ , but he didn’t know what his brother meant by it, so he grinned and climbed the stairs to his room.

Leaving the door slightly open, he stripped his clothes off, put on his sleep linens, and collapsed into bed. Sleep found him quickly, as if it knew what he was anticipating.

 

* * *

 

Cassian opened his eyes sluggishly with the now familiar sound of Nesta’s footsteps coming towards his bed. She climbed in with a huff, and he thought it might have been the most adorable sound he had ever heard. As he reached over to push away the hair plastered to her forehead, she stilled, her face contorting in agony, and Cassian thought he may have woken her.

But then she let out a bloodcurdling scream.

He startled. _Cauldron boil me._ He couldn’t take her back to her room like this. She hadn’t screamed like this since before she had started making her nightly trips to his room.

Before he knew what he was doing, he gathered her trembling, crying form to his body and held her. _Please forgive me_ , he beseeched her silently, not knowing if it would be better to wake her or not. _Not_ , he thought. Never, in a million years, would she want me to see her this way.

Minutes went by and Cassian held her shaking form to his chest, caressing her face and telling her _it’s alright, it’s just a dream, you’re going to be ok, Elain’s ok._ After what was maybe ten minutes but what felt like a lifetime, she let out a final shuddering sob and collapsed onto his chest. Breathing a sigh of relief, he kissed her forehead, salty with sweat, before making to get up.

_I can’t leave her like this. I can’t._ So he moved over, tucking in his wings, and placed her gently down on the other side of the bed. Drying her off and draping his blankets over her, Cassian fell asleep to the sound of Nesta’s deep, even breathing.

 

* * *

 

Sometime during the night, Nesta had rolled over towards Cassian, and he woke up with her arms around him and her face buried in his chest. Never in his life had he been so loathe to get out of bed. _If I could stay here forever_ , he thought, _I would, and damn the consequences_.

But common sense prevailed, and he gently pried Nesta’s arms from around his body and removed her head from his chest. As he slipped out of bed, she made what was undeniably a noise of protest, and Cassian, commander of the High Lord’s armies, wanted to cry right then and there.

But he didn’t. Because he wanted something that he could never have. So he dressed quickly and silently, and left the room.

 

* * *

 

_This time. This time was different. Nesta could feel it. And she wasn’t ready._

_They made her watch, helpless, as Elain was forced into the cauldron, as she was vomited onto the ground in a pool of black water. But this time was different._

_Instead of Nesta being forced into the Cauldron, the guards with the immovable grips dragged her around to face Elain, holding her head so that she couldn’t look away. Another one came from the shadows and grabbed Elain by the hair. No. No no_ no. _He laughed. And pulled out a dagger. Then he plunged it into her heart._

_Screaming was not violent enough a word for the sound that emanated from her. She had to watch as her sister - her baby sister - keeled over and the life left her eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes that had looked after and nurtured flowers. Had looked after Nesta. And she was gone. Truly gone._

_Then, absently, she felt the guards’ hands being ripped off of her arms, and she was again being held by the person who smelled of cloves. Distantly, she heard “It’s ok, you’re alright, Elain’s alright,” but she was still crying because it wasn’t true. It would never be true._

_But the scene faded to black and Nesta knew no more._

 

* * *

 

Nesta woke, her throat raw, and she wanted to cry all over again from the memory of the dream. _Elain is ok_ , she reminded herself. She allowed herself a minute or two more in bed before she started to roll out. And noticed she was not in her room.

Her heart started hammering, and she thought she might still be dreaming, but then she smelled cloves. The whole room smelled faintly like cloves. Pinching herself _hard_ to make sure she was lucid and that she wasn’t still asleep, she looked around. Weapons were strewn across a rough wooden desk, Illyrian flying leathers were hung up on a hook on the wall, and a large tin of a shiny yellow substance sat on the bedside table. Healing salve.

_Cassian_.

Not bothering to dress, she stormed out of the room and turned the wrong way before realizing she was on the opposite side of the hall, and all but flew down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Cassian caught Azriel’s pointed glance a moment before Nesta came whipping down the stairs, a look that spelled murder written all over her face, and - _gods help him_ \- still in her nightgown.

“What the _fuck_ , Cassian?”

Not wanting to subject Nesta - or himself - to everyone’s confused stares, he quickly got up and left the hall, Nesta hot on his heels.

“Do you want to tell me _why_ , exactly, I woke up in your bed this morning?” she yelled, enraged.

He had no idea how to broach the subject, and he cursed himself for thinking that she’d never find out that she sleepwalked into his bed every night. The flames in her eyes were a clear enough indicator that she was waiting for an explanation, so he spoke.

“You… you came. Sleepwalked, I mean. You’ve been coming to my room for a week.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” If looks could kill, he’d be dead a thousand times over. Painfully.

“On…” he cleared his throat. “On the first night, I carried you back straightaway, and I thought that would be the end of it. I thought it was a one-time thing.” Looking at the ground, he continued. “But then you came again, and some nights you were crying and others, you were shaking and… it didn’t feel right to leave you, so… I let you stay until the nightmare ended and then I brought you back. I always brought you back.”

She was unimpressed. “And last night?”

“You were screaming. I thought all of Velaris would hear you.” He cringed inwardly. Wrong thing to say. “And I couldn’t bring you back to let you suffer by yourself and… and maybe you knew that. Maybe that’s why you came to me. So I let you stay.” He didn’t mention the part where he woke to her holding him, just like he had held her.

She still remained unfazed, though it was possible that her eyes softened slightly. _Slightly_. Cassian went on. “It was wrong of me not to tell you. I should have told you the first time it happened. I’m sorry.”

 

* * *

 

“… it didn’t feel right to leave you, so… I let you stay until the nightmare ended and then I brought you back. I always brought you back.”

“And last night?” Nesta demanded, fuming. How _dare_ he...

“You were screaming. I thought all of Velaris would hear you.” _Elain. The dagger. The dream._ “And I couldn’t bring you back to let you suffer by yourself and… and maybe you knew that. Maybe that’s why you came to me. So I let you stay.” If she wasn’t furious at him, her jaw would have hit the floor. _The arms._ He’s _the one who pulled me out._ He’s _the one who saved me._

A small part of her broke. She wanted to scream at the world, at the unfairness of it. Why _him?_ Of all people? Why couldn’t it have been someone she wasn’t so gods-damned confused about? One minute, she wanted to punch his face in; the next, she wanted to grab his face and kiss him until neither of them had the breath to continue. She recoiled at the thought. _No. Don’t wish for things you can’t have._

“It was wrong of me not to tell you. I should have told you the first time it happened. I’m sorry.” Would she have wanted that, though? Nesta wasn’t sure. To her knowledge, no one knew that she was still having these nightmares. Except Cassian. Who slept in the room across from hers. _I am an idiot_ , she thought _._ He had always known. But he never approached her about it. He had once, and she had torn his face off; he never had again.

But he had let her come, and he had comforted her when she hadn’t even been awake to know it. Night after night, he had saved her from reliving a fate she had never wanted. No one had ever seen her defenseless like that, and it terrified her. But there was no judgement in his voice. He wasn’t laughing at her. He just looked… sorry. But it was not an apology for having let her sleep in his bed. It was an apology for protecting her from the truth of her vulnerability.

She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond to his apology, and unsure if she even wanted it. Was _she_ sorry? Would she have preferred suffering through the nightmares and getting weaker day after day, barely having the strength to get through breakfast? There were too many things going on at once.

So without responding, she turned on her heel and walked away.

 

* * *

 

Cassian was left standing dumbstruck in the hallway, reeling after their exchange. He was so stupid. He couldn’t believe that he had thought she wouldn’t find out. Allowing himself another moment of self-pity and self-reprimanding, he headed back into the dining hall.

Azriel gave him a concerned look as Cassian sat down beside him. “What was that?”

Cassian shook his head. It was not up to him to divulge Nesta’s secrets, even though it killed him not to be able to talk to his brother about it. So he settled for, “I am thoroughly fucked.”

His brother gave him a wry smile and said, “I gathered that much.” Despite himself, Cassian chuckled and served himself breakfast, his siphons flaring red as he heated it back up, and dug in.

 

* * *

 

Nesta ran back up the stairs, trying to forget about sleepwalking and nightmares and Cassian. She turned down another hall and stopped outside of Elain’s room. Catching her breath, she knocked. The door swung open, and Nesta’s heart swelled when she saw her sister grinning from ear to ear, ushering her in.

Unlike Nesta’s room, which was minimalistic at best, Elain had personalized her room with potted flowers, decorative tapestries, Feyre’s paintings, and lots of colourful accents. It was heartening to know that she was comfortable enough here to treat her room like home.

Taking note of Nesta’s expression, Elain’s changed from jubilance to concern. “Nesta, what’s the matter? Have you been eating?”

“Yes, I’ve been eating,” she said, realizing that in the midst of her outrage this morning, she had _not_ eaten. “I wanted your advice on something.” Elain nodded and sat on her bed, covered in a quilt with a cheery floral pattern, and encouraged Nesta to sit next to her.

Nesta told Elain the situation, and all the while, her sister nodded sagely and listened without interrupting.

When Nesta finished, Elain waited a beat before she said cautiously, “I understand why you’re upset. And why you wish that he’d told you.” Nesta wanted to interject and say that, perhaps, she didn’t want him to have told her. But she let Elain continue. “But you can see why he didn’t, right?” When she nodded, Elain went on. “If I know you at all, I know that you hate it when others see you with your guard down. And nightmares can make a person pretty vulnerable. I do wonder why you went to his room in particular, though.”

“Maybe it was just the closest room,” Nesta ventured, though there were other rooms in adjacent wings, as well as a long hallway.

“Maybe,” Elain agreed, albeit somewhat skeptically. “But maybe somewhere inside you, you trusted him. Maybe you knew that he wouldn’t judge you or pity you. That he was someone who had gone through a similar experience and knew how to deal with it.”

_His wings_ , Nesta remembered. How could she have forgotten? “Maybe,” Elain said, realization dawning in her eyes, “that’s why he goads you so much. To distract you.” She hadn’t told Elain the extent of her nightmares, not wanting to subject her to those horrors, but she knew that Elain must know what they were about. And she was right. Every morning after an hour or two of witty repartee, Cassian’s taunting and teasing would chase the memories of the nightmares away.

_And at night_ , she realized _, he chased the nightmares away again._ His cloves scent stuck with her each day after waking up, and she had begun to hold onto it as she fell asleep each night.

Elain seemed to see what was going on in Nesta’s mind - she had always been good at reading expressions - and gave her a knowing look. “You don’t have to talk to him. You don’t have to do anything. But I think that maybe what has happened isn’t such a bad thing.”

Nodding, she let Elain envelope her in a bone-crushing hug - Elain was surprisingly strong - before she left for her own room, where she buried herself in a book to try to quiet her warring thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Tossing and turning, Cassian could not seem to find a comfortable position to sleep in that night. He knew that it was not the position that was causing him to lose sleep, however. Giving up, he flopped on his back and stared at the ceiling. _I’m an idiot_ , he thought for the thousandth time that day. Regretfully, he had closed his door that night, not sure if he hoped that she’d come to him - _sleepwalk to him_ \- again or not.

An hour or so later, all attempts to fall asleep having failed thus far, he heard a familiar sound. He was unsure whether or not to be happy when Nesta walked into his room, heading, as usual, towards his bed. It was with a start that he realized, as she stopped just short of the bed, that she was _awake_.

“Nesta?” he whispered, voice cracking with sleepiness.

Her hair was mussed, but not dishevelled, and her nightgown was dry, so she hadn’t woken up from a nightmare. She had come here of her own volition. The revelation shocked him, but he focused back on the woman at the edge of his bed.

Unceremoniously, she sat down, curling her legs up under her. _This woman will be the death of me_.

“I…” she started, “I don’t know what this is, but… I’ve been sleeping better than I have since I got here and I don’t know if the nightmares will ever get better but you pull me out of the Cauldron every night and Elain-” she choked on her sister’s name, “I couldn’t save her but you saved me.” She said all of this in a rush and looked at her hands momentarily, then looked up at his face.

“They get better,” he reassured her. “They may not go away - I still have them sometimes. I’ll be flying and my wings will suddenly rip again and I’ll be falling, or I protect Azriel and feel my wings… but he still dies. But they get better. I don’t have them every night anymore.” He let himself smirk slightly before saying, “And I didn’t even have a sexy Illyrian warrior to chase the demons away.”

Nesta glared at him, but her posture relaxed slightly, and the glare faded after a few seconds.

“It’s Elain. Every night, it’s Elain. Sometimes I see what really happened, and sometimes she never comes out of the Cauldron, and last night-” she began weeping softly. “Last night, one of Hybern’s m-men stabbed her and I watched her d-die. Before you carried me away.”

_Before you carried me away. You pull me out of the Cauldron every night._ Cassian wanted to go to her, to console her, to hold her, but he wasn’t sure that she wanted that. So instead, he said, “He can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him hurt you or Elain ever again.” They both knew he couldn’t make promises like that, but the vehemence with which he spoke those words was as good as any vow.

When she closed the space between them and curled into his lap, Cassian felt like he could breathe again.

 

* * *

 

“They get better,” Cassian assured her. “They may not go away - I still have them sometimes. I’ll be flying and my wings will suddenly rip again and I’ll be falling, or I protect Azriel and feel my wings…” Nesta’s heart broke for him, “but he still dies. But they get better. I don’t have them every night anymore.” She saw the ghost of a smirk on his lips, and she fought the urge to scowl. “And I didn’t even have a sexy Illyrian warrior to chase the demons away.”

She didn’t fight it this time and glowered at him, but she was relieved. Azriel had explained the importance of an Illyrian’s wings to her, no doubt in an attempt to get her to quit baiting Cassian while he was healing; so if this male, who had suffered through almost losing his wings, could get through that memory, she could get through her own.

Taking a deep breath, she explained, “It’s Elain. Every night, it’s Elain. Sometimes I see what really happened, and sometimes she never comes out of the Cauldron, and last night-” Nesta couldn’t hold back the deluge of tears and let herself cry. “Last night, one of Hybern’s m-men stabbed her and I watched her d-die. Before you carried me away.” _Before you saved me._

“He can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him hurt you or Elain ever again.” And she believed him. She remembered that day, when despite his shredded wings, he had tried to go to her. Even then, he had tried to save her, and she knew without any doubt that if he had not passed out, he would have fought to the death to follow through on his promise. So she believed him.

Nesta realized, finally, that she didn’t need to be afraid to be vulnerable around Cassian. He understood. So she crawled across the bed and climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around his muscled body. His arms coming around her and holding her to him felt like the most natural thing in all the world. It felt like… _home_.

Looking up at him, she softly said three words that one week ago, she would have rather died than say aloud.

“Can I stay?”

Cassian gave her a dazzling smile that was all of the consent she needed before burrowing under the covers. He followed suit, and once he had covered them both with the blankets, Nesta felt an arm around her middle, pulling her towards him so her back pressed against his chest. Soon after, the arm that wasn’t wrapped around her middle draped over her to rest across her chest.

She sighed, warm and safe and happy. She trusted Cassian, and oddly, this didn’t make her feel vulnerable. It made her feel strong and it made her feel that, maybe, opening her heart to someone wasn’t a weakness.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Her heart felt inexplicably warm hearing the pet name, this time not spoken with sarcasm, but with warmth. With… love?

“Goodnight, brute.”

His deep chuckle rumbled through her back, and settled low in her stomach. She’d think about _that_ another night.

So she let the rise and fall of Cassian’s chest against her back lull her to sleep. And for the first time in a long time, and hopefully not the last, it was dreamless.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Cassian woke up to a note written in Rhys’s elegant script.

_Honestly, It’s about time. I’m sorry I didn’t lock Nesta’s door. If it’s any consolation, I put a ward on the stairs so she wouldn’t fall again. You’re welcome._

Cassian shook his head, glaring at the paper, but it was halfhearted. He was not the least bit mad. So he flipped the paper over, grabbed a pen, and doodled a crude drawing of a vulgar hand gesture. After a moment, at the very bottom, he wrote:

_Thank you, brother._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Tell me what you thought, and come find me on Tumblr!


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